November 23rd
by newxyorkxloser
Summary: You're dating the guy whose nose you broke in September because he tried to hit on you and then ate part of your sandwich." I'm telling her. "It was a ham Sandwich, Carly," She says it as though it makes perfect sense. CarlyxSam


"You're dating who?" I'm asking, staring up at her from my coffee and my half eaten bagel.

"Freddie," She says again, taking another bite of her sandwich like this isn't a big deal. It's a big deal and she knows it and I know it and she knows that I know. And I really don't even know what I'm going about anymore. But my point is that she should at least look at me or _something_ because, for god's sake, this is Freddie we're talking about. Freddie Benson. Dating Sam. Samantha Puckett. My best friend. Who, last I checked, hated his guts.

"What day is it?" April fool's. It must be. It'd be so like her to do something absolutely idiotic like this for April Fool's because it'd never happened and I'm gullible enough that I'll believe anything she says.

I think so anyway. Shut up. I'm not in denial. I'm not crazy.

"November 23rd?" She's saying, and now she's looking at me. Oh, of course Sam. It isn't a big deal that she's dating a guy she's supposed to hate, but it's like the end of the universe that I don't know what day it is?

I'm crazy.

"Oh,"

I'm an idiot. I'm stuffing another bite of my bagel in my mouth before she calls somebody to commit me to a mental institution or something. Mental institution. So not fun. Not that I would know. Seriously. I don't. They just look pretty scary.

"Am I dead?"

"Carly, chill, it's not that earth shattering," She's saying, chuckling a bit and taking another sip of her smoothie.

We're sitting in the smoothie place and it's 3:30 and for some reason, the place isn't packed. It scares me. It adds something to support my "I'm dead" theory. Seriously though, this place usually has kids practically leaking out the windows and front door this time of day, but it's only me and Sam and 3 or 4 other people, scattered throughout various tables.

Maybe there was a zombie attack and we missed it.

"You're dating the guy whose nose you broke in September because he tried to hit on you and then ate part of your sandwich." I'm telling her, giving her my "You are the weirdest girl I've ever met in my life and I love you so much but you are so fucking weird and confusing and I'm your best friend, so I understand you better than anybody" look. Yeah, the look does need to have that long of a name. Otherwise it just wouldn't be the same.

"It was a ham Sandwich, Carly," She says it as though it makes perfect sense. And I guess, to her, it does. God, I love her. She lives in her own little world where all the ridiculous things she does make sense.

"It was his nose, Sam."

"Yeah. Do you have any idea how easy those things break?"

No wonder people are scared of her sometimes.

Most of the time, actually.

--

I was still pretty sure that she was kidding and she was laughing hysterically at me whenever I looked away or left a room up until the end of school the next day, when I glanced out into the hallway from my history class and saw none other than miss Samantha Puckett with what must have been Freddie's hands around her waist and her hands in his hair and his him pressed up against a wall, his knee between her thighs.

If this was a joke, they sure were working really hard to make me believe it.

I think I'm going to puke. Dear god.

Okay. Whatever. I shouldn't be jealous. I don't really know why I am. But I am. I think. Sort of. Just a little. Or something.

What on earth am I going about?

I have no idea. I need to just stop. Right now. I'm going to drive myself crazy, and while most great artists are at least partly crazy, I really don't want to be an artist and I'm not in art class, I'm in history and I'm supposed to be writing an essay about ancient Chinese people.

Why do I care so much?

Fine. I'm jealous. But it's not like that. It's just because she's my best friend and he's.. him and he's supposed to like me and he's supposed to be my other almost best friend and he's not supposed to have a girlfriend or even have ever been kissed before, let alone--

Dear god, Sam, get your hand out of his pants, do you realize how visible you are?

I don't know what I am. I just know that this is going to mess everything up somehow. I don't know where or how because there's so many things that this could wreck and there's so many different ways that one of them could blow up or I could crack or god knows what, and it scares the shit out of me. Things are going to change. I know they will. Things are going to change so much and I don't want them to.

It's not that I want him. Or her. I don't want her. I don't. Honestly. I just don't want them to hate each other. I don't want things to be weird and I don't want anything to be different. I dunno. It feels like if she beats him like she always does after a breakup, it's so much more awkward.

She's my best friend. I'm not jealous of him. I don't want her. I don't. She's my best friend.

Fuck.

I wish I was him.

No. That's wrong. That's so wrong. I don't know. This feels so wrong. Him. With her. They don't work. They just don't.

And why do you think that, Carly? Do you think you'd work with her?

Stop. Write about the Chinese people. I like Chinese people. They make good food. They talk funny. I love Chinese people. I can do this. I can write a 2 page paper about their history. I can write hundreds of pages.

So shut up and write. Don't think about her. Don't look at the back of her head or the look that Freddie's got on his face, eyes closed in what I'm sure must be bliss.

Yeah. Wow. I'm really not helping myself here, am I?

I'm digging my own grave. Just stop thinking about her. I'm going to fuck this up. I know I am. I'm not gonna fuck up her and Freddie, either, I'm gonna fuck up her and me. And I make it sound like we're dating, but we're not, because she's straight and I'd never go there because she's her and she's my best friend and I'm gonna fuck it up.

She's my best friend. She's my best straight friend and I'm jealous that she has a boyfriend. I'm jealous of her boyfriend.

Write Carly. Fucking write.

--

I realized that they weren't kidding three hours later, when I was sitting home alone watching tv and chewing on a piece of ham, my cell sitting on the couch next to me under my fingertips, my outgoing calls list showing nothing but "Sam" and she didn't pick up a single time.

And it was then that I realized how much I need her.

Which is pathetic.

Quick. Change the channel. Find something more pathetic than me right now so I don't feel so bad.

Okay. MTV. True Life. Much better. I can feel my self worth coming back already.

Good old MTV. Always there when I need it.

I'm shoving another piece of ham in my mouth, and I'm starting to realize why Sam loves it so much. Okay, no, that's a lie. It tastes like bacon.

I hate bacon.

"Hey, Carls, where's Sam?" Spencer's asking from behind me, and I can tell he's leaning on his elbows on the couch because I can feel him breathing on my head.

"Probably making out with Freddie in some bathroom," I'm saying, trying to sound casual, but I just sound depressed. Like a dying llama.

What does a dying llama sound like?

"And you're drowning your loneliness in food that reminds you of her?" He's joking, I know, but he's actually right, and that's even more depressing than the fact that I'm lonely in the first place. He's right. He's not supposed to be right, but he is.

When did I start needing Sam as much as I do? This isn't sweet or some shit, this is disgusting and creepy and pathetic and stalkerish and I should be shot. Right now.

"Oh yeah, definitely,"

I wonder if he knows that I'm not being sarcastic.

Oh, for god's sake Carly, shut up.

This shouldn't bother me, but it does. It really really bothers me. I don't even know why. Fine. I like her. But it's not like she's my property or something. She's my best friend. It's not like I own her and it's not like she owns me and she's allowed to have a boyfriend.

Honestly though. _Freddie?_

What does Freddie have that I don't have?

Well, besides a penis.

Fuck. I wish I was a guy.

--

She's sitting in my room and she's chewing on a piece of ham the same way I was yesterday, and I'm practically chugging a bottle of water and Freddie's nowhere in sight and this feels so, so much more normal. Normal's good. Normal's really, really good.

"So when did you stop hating Freddie?" I'm asking, hanging my head off my bed and looking at everything upside down and at her and the plate that I'm pretty sure had half a pound of ham and a whole loaf of bread on it when we'd left the kitchen.

I want her metabolism. And her body.

Take that however you want. Whatever you're thinking, it's right.

"I dunno. I don't really like him that much," She's saying, as though she has no idea what this means to me. Okay. So she's not like, madly in love with him or anything, but does that make her a slut now instead? Hm. If she's easy, maybe she'll go for girls too?

"Which is why you had your hand down his pants yesterday?"

She looks at me with the most serious look I've ever seen on her face in the 6 or 7 years we've been friends, and declares, "I love cock,"

Well, she's not gay.

I can't even imagine what my face must look like. Probably like somebody shoved a red hot poker up my ass, or something else equally pleasant. And she just sits there and laughs.

I don't even know if I hate her guts or I love her more than anything in the world right now.

"Aww, don't be jealous, I love you more babe," She says, laughing still. Fuck you. Stop laughing at me. I know my face is the most attractive thing in the world right now.

"Course," And I'm not even sure if she can understand me, because I'm talking into my water bottle now. I think I'm subconsciously trying to drown myself. I drink too much. I don't think it's healthy.

Oh well.

"When you get water poisoning, I'm not giving you CPR,"

"Ew. Good,"

And then she's sitting in front of me and she's leaning over my head and I'm staring up at her and she's looking down at me and my breath is catching my throat and I have no idea why she does this to me but she does.

I'm laying down and she's sitting next to my head and she's playing with my hair and I wonder if she can see that she's giving me goosebumps.

"Sam.." My voice is just above a whisper. Hoarse and breathy and god knows what else and I'm so fucking stupid.

But she just smiles at me and kisses my forehead.

This is one of those rare moments where she acts absolutely nothing like the wall of a person she puts up in front of everybody else and I know she does it because she's scared of being hurt.

Does she ever think who it might be hurting though?

I don't know. I'm being stupid. I'm being really, really stupid. And so is she, if she doesn't know what she does to me by now. What she's doing to me right now.

"Really. I love you more,"

And then it's over and she's getting up and going back to her ham and I'm laying here and I can practically hear my heart beating.

--

"So, Carly, give me dyke 101," She's saying, head propped up in her hands and her face illuminated by just the glow of late-night tv and her half dry hair only partly curly and only slightly blonde and smelling of strawberry shampoo that I'm pretty sure is mine.

"What, you're bi?"

"I never said that, I said give me dyke 101"

Great Sam. Thanks a lot. In all the thousands of years that we've been friends and you've known that I'm gay, you chose now to ask about it. Now, when I'm taking every little thing you do and say completely wrong and twisting it around so it's what I want it to be and all I can think about is you and the fact that you kissed me (fine, on my forehead, but still, it was a kiss) and you have Freddie and I don't know.

This is the most dysfunctional friendship I've ever been a part of.

"Uhm. Girls are hot. Changing for gym is awkward. The end," Hey, I'm not making this stuff up.

"Well duh," She's saying through a mouthful of popcorn and Junior Mints, rolling her eyes at me.

Like that. I'm taking that wrong. She doesn't mean girls are hot. She's straight. Any normal person wouldn't even notice this but I notice it and it means the whole fucking world to me and when I come to my senses, I'm going to feel even worse if i get my hopes up like this.

Fuck. When did I even start caring if she was straight or bi or gay or dead anyway?

What the hell Carly. She's your best friend and you're driving yourself insane trying to figure out if she's gay or if she'd ever be interested in you. Newsflash, even if she is bi, she'd never date me. Because I'm _me. _And we're best friends and best friends just don't date. That's just not right. It's like incest or something. Only worse.

"I mean like, what's it like kissing girls and stuff?" She's continuing, before she sits up and starts looking under the blankets and on the floor for the bag of mini milky way bars that I'm holding.

"Soft. It tastes like cherry chapstick,"

"Oh my god, if I ever hear anybody try to say that and be sexy ever again, I'm going to fucking kill something." She's got herself completely under every single blanket now, and I can see one of her hands flailing around next to me.

"Uh, Sam, I've got the milky ways. You know that, right?" I'm not sure if she's still in the cute range, or it's just gotten sad that she's still under there.

"Oh. Uhm. Course I do," And she keeps flailing her hand around halfheartedly, as if it'll convince me that she's just doing that for fun.

And now she's groping me.

I'm just not going to say anything.

I'm going to be perfectly calm.

This is normal.

This is so, so normal.

I'm just going to pretend that this doesn't make me feel what it's making me feel. That's how a normal girl would react.

OhmygodohmygodohmygodSamhasherhandonmytitsohmygod.

Yeah. Normal reaction.

Perfectly normal.

"Carly, where's my hand?" She's still under there. Oh my god.

"Uhm.."

"Oh,"

"Yeah,"

Don't think about it. Just don't think about it and it'll be.

I don't know. What?

Sam's hand. Boobs. Feels really good.

"Wow. Those're soft,"

She can never be helpful, can she?

"No wonder you're gay,"

If she says the word gay one more time, I'm going to die of frustration.

I wish I had gaydar.

Gaydar would be good. Gaydar would make my life so much easier.

Good old gaydar.

Whywhywhy is her hand still there?

"Hey Carly.. when was the last time we had pepperoni rolls?" What?

"I dunno. A few weeks ago? Why?"

"I just found one,"

And then her hand's gone and she's pulled the blankets off her head and she's sitting there, hair messed up and sticking in every possible angle and direction and she's holding this crusty looking pepperoni roll in one hand and she's staring at it like it's gold or something.

She sorta looks like a puppy. It's adorable.

I'm so disgusted that I don't even know how to respond.

"Wow.. even I think this is nasty," She's saying, and she still hasn't taken her eyes off it.

"Yeah. Throw it out. Right now," Knowing her, she'll eat it otherwise.

"Yes ma'am,"

My god, I didn't even know it was possible for a human to be so cute. And yeah, it did briefly cross my mind that she could be an alien or something, but I figured that if aliens were taking over the planet, there'd be more than one, and so far I haven't met anybody as adorable as her.

I have problems. Maybe I should start therapy or something.

She's back. She's pepperoni roll-less. Which is good. She threw it out. Or she ate it. Which isn't so good. And I honestly really, really don't want to know which it was.

"So if you're gay, was that like a turn on?" She said gay. I'm going to die. I'm dying. I'm dead. Good job Sam. You killed me.

"No. You squeezed too hard,"

"Oh,"

"I kinda want a pepperoni roll now,"

"Me too, but nowhere delivers at 3 in the morning," Of course she would know.

Silence. Late night soap opera.

"I miss the one you made me throw out now,"

"Ew Sam. Just ew,"

--

"SPENCER SHAY ARE YOU MAKING BACON?"

Of course she doesn't remember that I'm sleeping here. Right next to her. And now she's screaming in my ear. About bacon, at that. Ew. I know, I know, I must be an alien, but I don't like bacon. Sam thinks I'm a monster and I don't really care.

I love her. But honestly. I need ear plugs.

Or she has to start sleeping in a different bed.

Oh my god. Did I just say that? I take it back I take it back she's never ever allowed to stop sleeping with me. Wait. No. That came out wrong. What the hell. I'm pathetic. I mean she's warm and comfortable and I like having somebody next to me when I wake up.

Yeah. That's better.

Sex would be nice too, though.

"CARLY WAKE UP THERE'S BACON,"

"I _am _awake. And you're stepping on me," I'm telling her simply through the blanket stuffed in my mouth and somehow managing to breath with her foot on my stomach.

"Oh. Sorry," She really does remind me of a puppy. And I think that that makes me some kind of sick pervert that I love/adore/want to do her. But seriously. What other animal steps on people and doesn't notice without killing them or being killed by whoever they stepped on?

"I hate bacon. I'm going back to sleep," I'm mumbling, rolling over and pulling my blankets over my face.

She has no idea what to say to that and I can tell.

"G'night beauitful,"

Oh. Okay. I think I'm already sleeping.

--

"I'm gay, Carly," She's saying and she's looking right at me and she must just be fucking with me, because the girl of my dreams could never possibly be gay and what about Freddie?

"What about Freddie?" I kinda figured that that was the only part of that thought that should ever be spoken aloud.

She's still looking at me and I'm staring into her eyes and I can always read her like a book but I don't have any idea what she's thinking. And she's trying to act calm but it scares the shit out of her (I think) and that's why she's looking at me the way she is.

"I don't know. I thought it'd work. It's gross," Every word is simple and she's trying not to even show any emotion in her voice, as though she'd actually have to have her guard up around me, of all people. As though I, of all people, would make fun of her for being with some guy she doesn't like and can't like because she apparently doesn't even like guys.

I'm looking at her and the curve of her nose and the little bit of her lip gloss that's still on her lips and her day old eyeliner and her eyes and the thing that they do when something really does mean everything to her and I can feel my heart practically breaking in my chest and I just want to hug her so badly right now.

So I do.

And something breaks in her and I can actually feel it and she goes from feeling stiff to almost collapsing on me and hugging me and she's scared shitless, I'm realizing. Samantha Puckett is terrified and I can feel her shaking in my arms and I can hear her breathing the way she does when she's crying.

"Sam.."

It's horrible, but I love this so much.

--

It's been a month. It's been a whole fucking month and she still hasn't said anything to Freddie and she acts like that one stupid morning never happened and she acts like she's straight and she's trying to pretend that it doesn't bother her that she's gay even though it obviously does and she's trying to act like she doesn't even feel anything at all anymore and I'm not buying it.

And it makes me absolutely furious, in a weird, over-protective, possessive best friend kind of way that she won't just talk to me about it and it's like, what the hell Sam, am I just around for shits and giggles but you won't tell me anything about anything?

Fine. I'm being stupid and I'm acting like some freakish abusive girlfriend in the early stages of a relationship but still. I don't know. I wish she'd say something to Freddie. I wish she'd fucking dump him. I wish she'd stop acting like she's some perfect robot and like nothing can touch her and nothing's ever going to touch her because it's such a lie.

I don't even know. I don't know what I'm thinking and I don't know what I feel and I have no idea what she's thinking or feeling and I don't know anything anymore.

We're something. I know that. I don't know what. I think I'm just imagining it because she's gay. Nothing's changed. She's just gay now. And I'm gay. And I like her. A lot. Of course I'd think that we were.. I don't know. We were something other than what we are. Best friends. Who both just happen to be dykes.

Right?

Right.

We're just best friends. Best dyke friends. I'm making up all the little things that I notice her doing because I want her to be doing them and I want them to mean something and they turn into the whole fucking world for me and she doesn't even notice that she's doing anything.

What the hell is wrong with me. What am I doing? What the hell am I thinking? I'm going to drive myself insane. I don't act like this. Ever. Ever ever _ever_ but I'm acting like this now and it's over my best friend who's supposed to be gay but who has a boyfriend and she's obviously not into me and she never will be, because if she was, she'd act at least a tiny bit like she's interested because she knows, if nothing else, that I've been single for too long and I want a girlfriend. Really, really want a girlfriend even if it's my best friend. Especially if it's my best friend.

What the fucking fuck, Carly Shay. You're a lunatic.

I want her. I want her more than anything and I want to hug her every night until she falls asleep and I want.

And I need to shut up because I sound like a total freak.

And now my phone's ringing.

"Hey," It's her. Of course. It's always her. Everything's always her. Her her her fucking her.

God, she's so perfect.

"What's up?" Pretending she isn't all I think about.

I need a hobby or something.

"I broke up with him," Wow. Timing much?

"Oh," I'm brilliant. I have such a great vocabulary. I should win a prize or something. I should be getting straight A's in English and I should go to college and major in English and I should write a book and be rich a famous. Extra points for the run on sentence and using the word 'and' a million and one times in one sentence.

"Yeah,"

We're like apes. What the fuck. Eventually we're just going to stop using English entirely (which is fine, considering how badly I've raped it) and we're just going to grunt at each other.

"How'd he take it?"

And then she's quiet and I think I have a pretty good idea.

"Where are you?"

"Outside your door,"

I'm sitting on the couch and I lift my head and turn it towards the door and I stare at it for a moment, as though that'll tell me whether or not she's really there or if I just stare at it, the door'll open on it's own.

"Hold on," But she's already hung up.

There's this part of me that feels absolutely horrible. But most of me is celebrating and having a party and getting drunk in my mind because she's finally admitting that she doesn't like him and she doesn't like any guy and she dumped him. She fucking dumped him oh my god.

I don't even know why I'm so happy. But I am. And that makes me feel even more horrible.

And then I'm standing in front of my door and she's standing on the other side of the doorframe and we're just standing here staring at each other and her eyes are puffy and red and that part of me that was happy about this just died. It's dead and buried and rotting and sitting in hell. Jesus fucking christ, what did Freddie fucking say to her to make her like this?

I have absolutely no idea what to say to her and I have even less of an idea what I should do because this is _Sam_ and she's standing outside my door and she's practically crying. _Sam_, who never cries and never even acts like she has feelings or anything.

She reaches out and she holds my hand and I feel like I'm flying and she gives me chills and butterflies and she's still looking right into my eyes, even as she runs her hand up my arm and onto my cheek.

I don't have any idea what's happening and I don't even care and I'm just standing here and focusing on this feeling and making sure that I remember every little bit of it because god knows I've never felt something like this.

Fuck.

I'm in love with her.

I'm in love with my best friend.

She's got her fingers in my hair and I'm frozen in the wake of the worst timed epiphany ever.

And then she's kissing me.

oh. my. god. nobody has ever made me feel like this.

and then it's over. it's over. it cant be over. sam no dont stop. please dnt stop. dont. dont dont dont and shes looking at me and then shes gone and id ont know why and i want her to come back and sam please come back you just made me feel the most amazing thing ive ever felt dont take it away now im in love with you sam.

--

She thinks I'm mad at her. She thinks I hate her guts and she thinks that she did the stupidest thing she could ever possibly do, I realize four hours later while I'm laying on my bed and staring at the ceiling and trying to touch my face the same way she did but I just can't.

She's so perfect. She's so absolutely stunning and she amazes me and I can't imagine a girl more amazing than her and she thinks that I wouldn't want her. That I don't want her.

I'm rolling over and I can feel my phone under my hand and I need her, I'm realizing. I need her so much and I want her and I need her right now. I need her so, so much. And I'm always the one who sits around and makes herself miserable so everybody around me can be happy and I'm not fucking doing that anymore because I need to be happy too.

I'm dialing her number and I don't even have to look at my phone because I've known it by heart since the sixth grade.

Pick up. Pick up pick up pick up. Please, please pick up Sam.

"The person you are calling at.."

Fuck. Why doesn't she ever pick up when it's actually important?

Fine. She doesn't want to pick up her phone, I'll just go out and find her.

--

I'm in the park. I'm in the park and it's dark out and there's snow everywhere and there's ice under my feet and it's raining and all I'm wearing is jeans and a sweatshirt and I'm starting to remember just how long it takes to walk to Sam's apartment and I'm starting to think that this really wasn't the best idea.

Call her again. Just call her and call her and call her because that pisses her off like nothing else and she'll pick up and yell at me eventually.

There's somebody sitting on a bench in the distance and I can only see their shape under the streetlights and I'm wondering who in their right mind would sit around in the rain and I really don't want to walk that way anymore.

"Sam, pick up, please," I'm mumbling into the mouthpiece of my phone while it calls her, playing her ringback tone and playing it and playing it and playing it and then it goes to voicemail. Again.

Just keep trying.

They're moving. Whoever it is that's sitting on that bench is moving and I think I should start walking a different way, but it's just for a second because then they're still again and I'm actually, honestly really creeped out but I'm even colder and I don't want to walk all the way back and then walk on the street or take a different path or something.

Call again. Ring. Ring. Ring.

Voicemail.

Again. Ring. Ring. Voicemail. Again. Voicemail. Again. Voicemail.

Voicemail. Voicemail. Voicemail.

Walk. Call. Ring. Voicemail. Walk. Call. Ring. Voicemail. Walk. Call. Shiver. Ring. Voicemail.

I don't hate you Sam. I really don't and I don't know why you're trying to run away from me, and I hate to sound conceited but you need me more than ever right now and I need you too and it's not for the same reasons but we need each other the same way and that's all that matters.

Please just pick up. Please please please pick up. I need you.

Walk. Call. Ring.

Ringtone?

Wait. Stop.

I'm shoving my phone in my pocket and I can still hear her ringtone, loud and clear and I'm standing 20 feet or so behind that creepy figure sitting on the bench.

It's just a coincidence. But still. I'm reaching in my pocket and hitting end call and the sound stops.

If it's just a coincidence, it's really, really weird.

Call again.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Ringtone.

"Sam?" I hear myself calling weakly. Figure flinches. Sam flinches and looks back at me. "Oh my god, Sam, what're you doing here? It's freezing,"

Because, I mean, it's not like I'm here too or anything.

She doesn't say anything, She just sits there and stares at me and I take a couple of cautious steps towards her. God. She really is like a puppy.

And then she chokes back a sob.

Sam. In the park. At 11 at night. In the rain and the snow. Sitting on a bench, crying. Crying over Freddie and crying over being gay and crying over _me. _

Jesus.

"Carly.." Oh my god. I just died. Her voice is hoarse and she won't look at me but it's still so, so obvious that she's been crying even if I can't see her face.

I never see her like this. Never. She always has her guard up, even around me and she always has to be the girl that nothing can touch, ever and she always has to be the girl that doesn't give a fuck and nobody can hurt, but she's standing in front of me now and she gives a fuck and I hurt her and Freddie hurt her and it shows.

It isn't sweet or special or something. It's sad. It's terrifying.

She takes shaky steps towards me and I'm realizing how much this hurt her. How much everything the past few months have hurt her. She tried to act like she didn't care if she was gay or straight or if she was with Freddie or if he hated her or if he'd accept her or hate her and she can't anymore, I'm realizing. For the first time, it's actually showing up much it takes out of her to act like she doesn't care.

I hate to sound like some stupid lesbian teen novel or whatever, but this is the scariest thing any gay kid is gonna go through for a long time, and she's been sitting there trying to act like it hasn't even touched her, but it has. It touched her and it beat her up and it kicked her when she was down and now she's just exhausted.

And then I can feel her in my arms. Fuck. I hate that expression. I hate the whole "I wanna hold you in my arms and never let you go," thing but I really do just want to hold her.

I've got my hand on her head like she had hers on mine and Sam, you have no idea how much I need you and you have no idea what you make me feel and you have no idea what you mean to me.

I'm breathing her breath. I'm leaning my forehead on hers and my nose is pressing up against hers and my lips are right above hers and I feel exactly like I did before and I love it so much.

"Carly, stop," I hear her choking out.

She thinks I'm doing this because I feel bad.

Fuck. I know her too well.

I'm looking at her--really, actually looking at her and she's looking back and I'm trying to just tell her that I want her more than anything and how much I love her and I'm not doing this because I feel bad for her or I want her to be okay or something.

And then I'm kissing her and I feel lightheaded and giddy and it's absolutely amazing.

Her mouth is hot and soft and wet and tastes like ham and peppermint and somehow, I think it's perfect, just like I think that her arms around me is perfect even though her clothes are soaked and I'm freezing. God, everything she does really is perfect.

Wow.

And I can feel her tongue against mine and I'm trying to pull her even closer to me and fuck, I want her so much and I want her right now and I don't want her to ever go away.

"Don't stop," I hear her mumble into my mouth.

And I don't.


End file.
